How They Met
by Num De Plume
Summary: This is how I envisioned the first meeting of Fitzwilliam Darcy and Charles Bingley. I made Darcy a member of the Royal Family, a Lord to be accurate. Why, because I can. Enjoy.


This is my version of how Fitzwilliam Darcy first met and became friends with Charles Bingley. I've decided to make Mr. Darcy a member of royalty. A Lord. Why? Because I can.

*I do not own any of these wonderful characters, as they belong to Jane Austen's imagination

The new luxurious and finely crafted carriage belonging to Lord Darcy's estate turned the bend onto the only main street that the small town of Meryton could lay claim to, and headed for the Assembly Hall which stood at the center of the small town square, as the clock in the tiny tower at the top of the Hall was slowly striking seven times. It was still light outside, but the sun would be setting within the next hour or so. A good portion of the earlier day had been rainy, producing the end results of laughing children who were jumping off the wooden plank sidewalks splashing into the puddles that collected along the edges of the street with shrieks of laughter. The dogs chased carriages as they rolled by in response to the noisy gathering in the normally quite little town, and most of the local stores had closed early in anticipation of the dance that evening. Lord Darcy looked out the window and saw a small, quaint market town, much like many others that they had stopped at on their way to this section of the county, some 50 miles south of London. He could feel the excitement in the air, and wished that he could share in its sentiment. Lord Darcy signed. He wished that he felt comfortable among people he did not know intimately, feeling that he not have the talent which some possessed, of conversing easily with complete strangers. He'd always marveled at his friend Charles Bingley's talent to do so, and he quietly shook his head and sighed again in resignation of the evening ahead. He glanced at Bingley, and gave a weak smile. The carriage slowed down, finally coming to a halt right in front of the Hall as 15 year old Mr. Zachary, the Darcy coach driver, quickly jumped down from his perch seat from above the carriage and opened the coaches' double doors, smiling, as he announced that they had arrived at their appointed destination. "The Assembly Hall, M'Lord."

"Thank You, Mr. Zachary." Lord Darcy said as he stood and paused in the door frame of the carriage before stepping down in front of the open doors of the Assembly Hall of Meryton. He quickly examined the only inn that it seemed that the small country town of Meryton had. It wasn't too bad really, but it certainly had seen it's better days there was no doubt. Peeling white paint, a windowpane of broken glass on the second floor, a shutter or two slightly unhinged and allowed to hang at an angle, things that most people wouldn't even notice. But, nothing escaped Lord Darcy's attention. There was a sign made out of roughly hued wood that was hanging above the double doored entrance to the inn, making it was clear that the town eagerly looked forward to meeting the new renters of Netherfield Park with open arms. On the wooden sign were big crooked words, painted in red, 'Welcome Charles DINGLEY and Guests.' Darcy rolled his eyes in wry amusement.

As his boots hit the mud, he worked the tension induced kink out of his neck with a sharp popping twist, while at the same time straightening his shoulders, flexing his fingers as he adjusted the cuffs from beneath his dark silk topcoat and pulled down on his black on black embroidered brocade vest. He would not normally had worn something so fine to a country gathering, he would have rather chosen a light wool coat matched with a plain vest, but as his man-servant, Tattoo had so rightly reminded him, he had to make a good impression for the sake of his friend who might end up calling the small town of Meryton his home. Tattoo had been in Darcy's service for 13 years, and had earned that right to express some familiarity with expressing his opinions, great and small. Well, Darcy thought, as least he wasn't over-dressed to the nines as if ready for a fancy soiree in the city held by one of The Ton, as Miss Caroline had done. He didn't think that he'd ever get used to the newest fashion of the gentlemen's suit from the jacket, to the waistcoat, pants and even caveat being bold check, color or brocade, and sometimes all three at once. Head to toe pattern... it was totally un-necessary, too showy, and too ostentatious. He thought they looked like preening peacocks. But Miss Bingley it seemed, had put on every piece of adornment that she could find, wither it was the clothes, the jewelry or the hair. He found it embarrassing.

"Watch your step DINGLEY." said Darcy with a dry wit as he moved aside to allow his friend to exit the carriage.

"DINGLEY?... Dingley...? What?..." Questioned Charles as he stood in the doorway of the carriage, and then grinned and laughed when he saw the mis-spelling of his name on the welcome sign. He always had good humor about everything. Forgetting Darcy's warning to 'watch his step', Bingley jumped down to the ground with the excitement of a child on his birthday, his dancing slippers squelching in the mud, almost causing him to slip to his backside had Darcy not quickly reached out, grabbing onto his friends arm to help keep him upright. Bingley's sudden look of surprise, then panic was quickly replaced by that of a glance and smile of thankful gratitude that he gave his friend Darcy who simply nodded in silent response. Reaching into the inside pocket of his vest, he handed Bingley his pocket hanky and motioned for him to wipe the mud off his fancy slippers. In truth, Darcy found dancing slippers for men to be ridiculous, all shiny with little satin bows or rosettes. He wasn't wearing dancing slippers himself, as he had no intention of dancing tonight. Actually, dancing or not, he would never have worn those types of shoes, he found them too feminine, no matter what the fashion at the moment dictated. Tattoo worked hard to turn his master into a fashionable 'dandy' of the day, but Lord Darcy would have none of it. His faithful man-servant had even had the audacity to buy a pair of dancing slippers and had snuck them in the luggage in hopeful anticipation of their use, but that was one line that Darcy was unwilling to cross over. He then slammed his feet down one at a time on the sidewalk, forcing the mud off of his well worn black leather boots, as if to put an exclamation point onto his very thoughts. He then scraped the mud off the bottoms in an upwards motion against the edge of the wooden planked sidewalk. He was a boot man through and through. He'd live and he'd die with his leather boots on if he had any say in the matter, and he had every intention to.

The sidewalks and streets were crowded with townspeople talking and laughing as they walked in and out of the Assembly Hall, initially starring in curiosity and then nodding with smiles at the strangers in their small market town. The entrance's double doors, and various windows were flung wide open, hopefully to allow some cross ventilation of fresh air into the packed room to make it more accommodating, if not more comfortable. The earlier rain had cooled things down as it brought a small breeze and everyone hoped that it would carry on throughout the night. Rowdy sounds of conversation and laughter emanated from inside the inn bringing with it the sounds of poorly played tinny sounding music that sliced through the peacefulness of the early evening. It was lively music to be sure, but obviously it was not a professional band that was playing, as their instruments had not been properly tuned in quite a while... if ever... causing an ear splitting pitch from time to time that could melt the enamel off your teeth. No. London this was not.

Darcy called to Zachary to get a stable blanket from the back hatch of the carriage so that he could use it to lie atop of the mud to protect the lady's fine shoes and dress. While Bingley could simply wipe the mud off of his shoes with good humor, Caroline Bingley, Darcy knew, would not. She had already complained about going to the small country dance, and spent the last three days pouting and telling Bingley at every opportunity that she had no wish to go. Darcy silently agreed with her, he didn't want to give her any more sharp arrows to aim at her brother tonight, nor give her any opportunity to feel that they were of the same mind. Darcy shuttered at the thought. Lord Darcy was going because he knew how important it was to his friend, while in reality Caroline was going because she wanted to show off in front of the county simpletons (as she called them) and for no other reason, it certainly wasn't for the sake of her brother, to whom she owed everything, took more, and gave nothing. Putting the blanket down over the mud, Darcy backed away as Bingley stepped up, reaching into the carriage to escort his sister out. It was a silent agreement between the gentlemen after Caroline had, on several occasions in the past, virtually flung herself into Darcy's arms, making a spectacle of her and Lord Darcy, expecting him to carry her to the building on rainy days, saying, with a pout, that she couldn't possibly get her shoes wet. The fact that Caroline never wasted an opportunity to figuratively... and literally... throw herself at Darcy was an embarrassment to both men.

Exiting the carriage, the lady looked around with such an expression of utter distaste. Darcy's eyes glanced back to his friend's face, which was all smiles and politeness, bursting with cheerful curiosity and hopeful exuberance, as he was already shaking hands and introducing himself to the various people on the sidewalk.

Caroline sneered as she looked up at the Welcome sign. She, of course, did not see any humor in it at all. Caroline felt that the humiliation was devastating! She just couldn't believe it! Really! I mean, really! They were the BINGLEY'S, for God's sakes, The BINGLEY'S. Everybody who was anybody knew who the Bingley Family was, or so her egotistical mind imagined. She pouted. "Oh Charles, surely you can't be serious about staying in a place like this. These backwater people can't even spell properly."

"And so it begins." Darcy thought as he wearily shook his head and looked over the crowd, down the road. One of the advantages of being tall, he could always see head and shoulders above the crowd. He hated it when Caroline pouted. While other men found it charming, and Caroline assumed that Lord Darcy did too, in reality it grated on his nerves. It seemed as though she spent half of her life pouting. Not for the first time he wondered with quite amazement if perhaps Caroline actually had been found under a cabbage leaf and adopted... or at least that was the amusing story that old Charles Bingley Sr had told on many occasions to account for the differences in attitudes between his only son and daughter, who were as different as night and day in temperament.

"Dingley - Bingley - does it really matter, Caroline. They're bidding us 'Welcome'. They'll get to know us well enough in time.'' her brother said smiling broadly and laughed.

"Yes, but do WE really want to know THEM. They're so primitive as to still be savages in animal skins judging by their poor failed attempts at fashion." Caroline said with distain while giving rude looks to the passersby. Hoping to find Darcy in agreement, she tried to catch his attention, "Would you not agree, Lord Darcy?" she said. She was disappointed to find that he was simply looking passed her up and down the streets of the small town in curiosity. In actuality, he was totally ignoring her, as there was no way he was going to allow himself to be dragged into the ongoing debate between brother and sister.

"Is that necessary, Caro?" Bingley said in frustration, calling his sister by the family childhood nick name that she hated so much, reminding her, "Remember that you and I are but one generation removed from these very types of people. After all, Father started out in trade in a small country store selling sundries in a town very much likes this."

Caroline head snapped towards her brother with eyes flaming with rage. "Don't call me Caro!" she hissed through tight lips, then shooting her eyes back to Lord Darcy to see if he'd heard. She was furious that her brother should mention their father's humble beginnings in front of Lord Darcy. It was not to be born! It was bad enough that he had shortened her name in public. She felt to do so was common, undignified and below her station in life. Or at least the rank and station that she aspired to... Lady Darcy... she smiled at that thought. Lord Fitzwilliam Darcy and his wife Lady Caroline Darcy. She'd played the name in her head a million times before. Then she frowned again glaring back at her brother. To bring up their families humble beginnings was totally unforgiveable. It was something she never acknowledged and always lied about.

"I'm sure they'll be lovely," Bingley continued, smiling and nodding to everyone passing them by, trying to quite his sister a little. "There's no reason to be insulting the townspeople. We haven't even so much as walked in the front door, yet. Remember, they do have feelings, and are people just like us."

"Charles," Caroline scowled as she put her hands on her hips impatiently, her face twisting into an ugly scowl. "Sometimes you live in a simpleton's world. An assembly such as this is for a gathering of the common man. WE are anything but common; THEY will never be like US. It's like comparing a majestic eagle to a lowly chicken!"

That a slack jawed hound walked by at just that moment, howling balefully, and then stopped to shake off, allowing puddle water to fly everywhere, sending Caroline shrieking in terror and the townspeople laughing in good humor. The fact that the water had missed them by a mile mattered not, as it only seemed to illustrate Miss Caroline's belief.

"I do think Charles that dog makes my point adequately. We are the pure breeds of Society. We are the Great Danes, and these people are just like that cross breed flea bitten mutt!" Caroline smirked, and continued to scowl at the townspeople.

"Actually, Miss Caroline, this is a Blood Hound, not a mutt." Darcy replied, bending down and giving the dog a two handed scratch behind each floppy ear. "They're amazing dogs really. They have a keen sense of smell that can track animal and human scents over great distances, even across the water. I was reading about them in a newspaper article recently that Blood Hounds are even being used at Scotland Yard. I find them amazing, absolutely amazing. I was acquiring into getting one for myself just before we left. So, you're wrong, Miss Caroline, quite wrong, Blood Hound's might not be the most beautiful of dogs, but they are indeed a noble breed unto themselves, right up there WITH the Great Danes."

Caroline rolled her eyes as she'd forgotten that Lord Darcy was a avid reader who faithfully scoured several newspapers every morning on a daily basis. Reading? She couldn't be bothered and tittered, but hide her amusement behind her fans and covered up her laughter with discreet coughs. She, for one, was not impressed, but she smiled and simpered. "Really, Lord Darcy, it's YOU who are amazing, is there anything that you don't know about? You make everything sound so fascinating."

Unfortunately, Miss Bingley was not very nice with anyone she deemed below her, which was just about everyone, looking down her nose, making fun of everything as she glanced around with a practiced look of utter contempt and boredom with anything by the most exclusive of entertainment. She wanted only the finer things in life. The fact that she'd never personally worked for it, but simply felt that she deserved it, because it was her due, mattered not. Nothing short of the grand parties, dinners, balls and soirees of The Ton would satisfy. The very same functions that Lord Darcy was expected to attend while in London, but rarely did. Not for the first time, Caroline wondered how Lord Darcy and her brother ever became and remained friends all these years. "Who cares?" Caroline shrugged her shoulders. Lord Darcy was within her grasp, she was sure of it, and that was all that mattered. She would never figure her brother and Lord Darcy's friendship out, nor did she care to as long as she got what she wanted. She'd already resolved that once she did become Lady Darcy, she'd see to it that her brother was slowly cut out of their lives altogether, as he was just too much of an embarrassment, the way he simply accepting anybody who came down his path, without regard to their rank or position in life was unacceptable, and embarrassing. But for now he was useful. She shook her head in distain. They two men were total opposites. How they had ever become friends was beyond her.

Yes, it was true that Darcy was withdrawn, reserved, cautious, quiet, while Bingley was exactly the other side of the coin, open, friendly, spontaneous and boisterous. Darcy tended to hold everyone, politely at a distance while Bingley made friends with anyone within seconds of meeting them. Of course, that wasn't always the case. There once was a time, in the very beginning, some ten years earlier that Bingley had no friends at all and it was Darcy, a complete stranger, who had first held out his hand in friendship, surprising them both. Standing there outside the Assembly Hall, waiting for the ladies to smooth out their elaborate dresses and the prissy Mr. Hurst to check his newly curled hair, Darcy's thoughts traveled back to the first time he met a young Charles Bingley.

It had been at the young gentleman's private club, 'Trudeau's' in Up -Town, London. It was a popular gathering spot for the boys, and soon to be young men of high society attending Cambridge, as it was within walking distance of their school. Normally, it wasn't the kind of place that 17 year old Darcy would have gone, too loud, too many people, too much drinking, but he'd been up way too late the night before studying for a Latin exam, and had rushed out the door, not having time to eat the breakfast that Mrs. Reynolds, his housekeeper, had ordered to be prepared for him every morning. So, by 2 o'clock, after his last class of Advanced Economics, he'd been quite famished and decided to stop off at the club for a little lunch, and had chosen a curtained booth for privacy so he wouldn't be interrupted while continuing to study for his exit exams. Nothing short of finishing at the top of his class would satisfy him. Afterwards, his plan was to stop off a few blocks away at 'Monsieur Monti's Confections' and pick up some sweet treats for his little sister and ward, two year old Georgianna who was residing with him in their London York residence of 'Hightower' until he finished school.

While at 'Trudeau's' Darcy could not help by overhear a conversation of several loud boys from the school, a group of ner-do-well rich kids who had been sitting at an open table near his curtained booth. Apparently, Randolph Morehouse, one of his classmates, and the leader of this rowdy group, announced to everybody in the large room that a new boy from school would be joining them, a younger boy, a lower classmate, 14 year old Charles Bingley, who would be arriving soon for what he thought was an invitation to lunch. They made fun of the way he dressed, the way he talked, the fact that his father was in trade, but mostly they made fun of how innocent and naive he was. They didn't really invite him there out of friendship, oh no, the plan was to have a barmaid, at Morehouse's signal, bring to their table a whiskey bottle and ten glasses on a platter. Five whiskey shots would already be poured. The pre-poured drinks were for Randolph, and the set of five empty glasses, intended for Bingley. With the help of his four friends, Randolph would then challenge the young boy to a drinking contest, and the others egged him on. However, Moorcroft revealed amongst loud hoots from the room, he and his friends had poured out half the whisky in the bottle and had each taken turns replacing it with... their own urine. Darcy grimaced and shook his head in disbelief as howls of ruthless laughter could be heard throughout the establishment. He didn't know Charles Bingley personally, as he was only a sophomore, and Darcy, a senior. Bingley's family were several circles below his, so they didn't exactly belong in the same league, and he had to admit, he hadn't paid much attention to him, yet what little he did know of Bingley around school was he was a nice enough kid, a little too trusting maybe, certainly not like a lot of boys from Cambridge, such as these very louts, who came from more privileged backgrounds, constantly getting into trouble knowing that in the end they would be shielded from responsibility by their families. A practical joke was one thing, but this was something beyond the pale. This was deliberate cruelty.

Shaking his head in disgust, Lord Darcy had pushed the plate of food in front of him away and closed the book he'd been reading. He just didn't understand this kind of moronic mentality. While he tended to stay to himself and not socialize with people in general, he'd never been cruel to anyone. Darcy got up, opened the curtain and quietly left the room, walking down the stairs to leave 'Trudeau's', and the unpleasant business that would soon take place, and in doing so, passed a smiling, and hopeful, young Charles Bingley walking up the stairs, unaware of the trap that lay ahead of him. It hadn't been an easy time for Bingley since starting at the exclusive school three months prior, right in the middle of the school year, so he was happy to finally be making some friends... or so he thought. Most of the boys looked down their noses at him because of his lack of blue-blood, aristocratic family connections. He was 'new money,' from trade... and amongst The Ton, 'new money' was the same as no money. Having a father who's current income was from trade should have been an embarrassment for Bingley, the only thing was, he was so proud of his father's hard work and accomplishments, it just became another thing the boys made fun of. It had been a very lonely time for young Charles Bingley.

Darcy had an uneasy, sick feeling as he approached his private carriage that was waiting just outside, His private driver Mr. Joshua jumped down from his perch, opening the carriage door. Darcy put his foot on the coach rung, stepping up and into the carriage as Mr. Joshua shut the door and slowly started on their way back to the grand residence of Lacomme.

"That kid doesn't deserve what those imbeciles are going to do to him", Darcy thought. He would be branded a fool. A story like this would make the gossip circuit rather quickly, and with no deeply rooted and monied family ties to publicly support him during his humiliation... and humiliated he would be there was no doubt... he'd never be able to live it down, all because some snot nosed brats wanted to have some 'fun'. Knowing this crowd, they'd made up some horrendous nickname to refer to this day, and hang it around Bingley's neck like an albatross. No matter how old he got, no matter what he made of himself, Charles Bingley would always be remembered, and referred to as the idiot who... Ugghh!... it was too disgusting to even think about, and Darcy grimaced again. His head hung with guilt and he sighed deeply, suddenly tapping on the ceiling of the carriage with his walking stick to signal his driver to stop as he jumped out of the carriage and quickly walked the half block back to 'Trudeau's. As he entered the crowded room, the barmaid was just putting down the tray with the glasses and bottle of tainted whiskey at Morehouse's table. Darcy stood there for a moment, looking around, hoping that someone else would do something to stop this, but the reality was that nobody was going to, as all eyes in the room were drawn the table in gleeful anticipation. Darcy couldn't believe what he was about to do, but he just knew he simply couldn't walk away and allow it to happen. Those boys really needed to be taught a lesson. And the lesson had to be more than just stopping the kid drinking from that bottle of... Ughhh! What they were going to do made Darcy furious. Morehouse and his little gang had been allowed to run unchecked long enough. But today, Darcy thought, it was going to stop, d*mn it. For good! Darcy walked up to the table and pasted a smile on his face.

"Charles Bingley, you encouragable pup, why didn't you tell me you'd be at 'Trudeau's', we could have sat down for lunch together." Lord Darcy had exclaim loudly as he slapped young Bingley on his back, surprised at how frail and gangly the kid seemed to be under his school jacket. Bingley looked up at the tall, formidable older boy towering above him with his hand on his shoulder, not quite recognizing him. Bingley's expression, while one of surprise, could not be matched by the stunned expressions of the onlookers, and certainly not by the horrified looks on the faces of the other boys sitting around the table. Suddenly the room grew very quite.

They all, of course, knew who Lord Fitzwilliam Darcy was, but that apparently (oh my god!) this young boob was a friend of his? Surely not? How could that be? This wasn't going to sit well with their plans. No, not at all.

"A drinking game? Are you boys playing a drinking game?" Darcy said innocently as he pulled up a chair beside Bingley without asking anyone's permission to join them. "Good Lord, I think it's been months since I've played a drinking game." He took off his hat and placed it along with his walking cane on top of a nearby table.

If true be told, the only full blown drinking game that Darcy had ever participated in, was just a month prior, during a visit to his Aunt Catherine's with his cousin Richard, who had just joined the army and was getting ready to be shipped out. It had been a painful lesson. The boys discovered that while Darcy could certainly hold his liquor very well, Richard, a year older, and bigger, was able to easily outnumber him two to one, and still remain upright, a family trait Darcy discovered that fateful day, he had not inherited. At 10 shots, Darcy was sloppy drunk. While Richard had thought it hysterical, his Aunt Catherine had not been pleased.

"Do be a gent and let me take your place... you don't mind, do you, kid?" Lord Darcy said in his most authorative and forceful voice, letting it be known that he wasn't exactly asking for consent.

"Thank You!" he said enthusiastically, not waiting for a reply.

"I'll just take the glasses intended for my young friend." Lord Darcy said as he picked up the 'tainted' bottle and poured out the dark amber liquid into the five empty glasses that sat at the opposite end of the round tray from Morehouse.

"No!" came the cry, as all five boys stood up, glancing back and forth between each other each with terrified looks.

"No?" said Darcy, with a tone that said he dared not be defied.

"He means, your Lordship, sir, let's get you your own set of glasses, and a fresh bottle." stammered one of the frightened boys, quickly calling for the barmaid to return with a new unopened, untainted bottle.

"That won't be necessary... it's quite alright. No troubles boys, no troubles. The pup's glasses are already here." Darcy said glancing around at the nervous barmaid and dismissed her. "That won't be necessary, madam."

Bingley looked around, rather confused.

"A drinking game. Excellent, excellent. What do you say about us making this a wager? Ten pounds if the shot goes down smoothly? Come on gentlemen, pony-up... or didn't your mommies give you any pen money this week? "A shocked murmur ran through the room at Lord Darcy's implication that these boys were anything less than real men. The hooligans went from being frightened to being angry. Before anyone could blink an eye, 60 pounds of cold hard cash sat on the table. What did they have to be frightened off, right? They knew which drinks were pure.

Lord Darcy smiled slyly as he placed his middle finger on the outer ridge of the round serving tray and ever so gently let the tray slide from left to right, left to right like the pendulum of a clock. "And while we're at it...let's make this really exciting!" Suddenly, without warning, Darcy spun the tray around allowing it to quickly spin in circles, catching the boys, and everyone else off guard. Never taking his eyes off Randolph, Lord Darcy suddenly put his hand out as he stopped the tray, saying a silent prayer. Timing the spin of the tray was everything. If he got the wrong set of glasses, this thing whole thing would backfire on him... rather quickly, very publicly, and without mercy. He hoped he'd gotten it right, as there was no backing out now. Looking the gang leader square in the face, Darcy gave a small smile that never reached his eyes.

Knowing he was backed into a corner, Morehouse looked around, silently, desperately, pleading for help from his friends, or anyone else in the room, and receiving none. He reached out with a shaking hand to take the glass that now sat waiting in front of him, as Darcy took a glass from the opposite side of the tray. The room was deathly silent as everyone held their breath with each man looking into the others eyes from across the table.

"Now!" Darcy said forcefully.

Quickly downing the shots simultaneously, each immediately knowing which drink they had chosen. Morehouse turned red and began sputtering, gagging and coughing, his throat burning, eyes bulging as tears sprang out. Darcy, slowly sat back in his chair, with the smallest of silent smiles on his face. Normally, scotch was his liqueur of choice, but that afternoon he didn't think that whisky could have ever tasted so sweet. Before the whole thing was over, quite a crowd had gathered around the table, when word of mouth spread like wildfire of the challenge, as one by one Lord Darcy challenged the remaining four boys, again calculating the spin of the tray, while never taking his eyes off each boys face. With each spin of the tray, Darcy came out victorious. Soon laughter was peeling through the room, as all five boys were forced to 'have a taste of his own medicine'. Finally, all of the snot nosed brats sat silently, but for the sounds of soft moans and groans, with alternate shades of deathly white and pale green upon their faces. Suddenly Morehouse shot out of his chair, stumbling wildly through the crowd of onlookers, searching for somewhere to... to... to... "rugghhhhh", came a horrifyingly, gut wrenching guttural noise that filled the club's main room... followed by a gasp from the horde of well heeled boys, a sure sign that Morehouse had not made it to the washroom in time. The other boys sat there holding their hands to their mouths, gagging, praying that they wouldn't meet the same fate.

"Good Lord. I imagine that's going to be an awful mess to clean up," said Lord Darcy innocently, as he saw the throng of people spring back, allowing the ill man ample breathing room. Sliding his chair back, Darcy stood up, took all the money sitting on the table, and stuffed it into Bingley's front jacket pocket. Towering over the other boys, Darcy then put his hands flat on the table, leaning over, giving the remaining boys, and everyone else in the room a thinly veiled word of warning, "Next time anyone wants to play games with my good friend Charles Bingley, I suggest you think of a better game than this. I find it to be just a little..." he paused dramatically as he looked around the crowd. "... P*SS - poor, don't you think, boys?"

The young men sank further down in their chairs as fresh laughter erupted and filled the crowded room.

Lord Darcy put his hat back on and tapped the side of it with his walking cane, "Gentlemen." he said as he gently took Bingley's arm and ushered the bewildered boy off of his seat, down the stairs and out the front doors of 'Trudeau's', guiding him into the Darcy private carriage that was once again waiting patiently right outside the front door. Darcy instructed his driver, "Home please, Mr. Joshua. I think this afternoon deserves a little celebration lunch." Mr. Joshua shut the door once the two gentlemen were seated, jumped up onto his perch above the carriage and once again proceeded to drive slowly away.

Darcy sat in the darkened coach, his head leaning against the back of the thickly cushioned seat, eyes closed, with a feeling of complete satisfaction.

Bingley sat quietly for a moment, looking at the older boy sitting in front of him, a little confused at everything that had just happened so quickly. He silently turned around and looked behind him through the rear carriage window at 'Troudeau's and then back again to find that the stranger he was sitting in the carriage with was now looking directly at him, with intense blue eyes. Bingley blinked, and hesitated nervously. When he finally did speak up, his words cracked with a voice that said that he was in the middle of a young man's 'change' of life to young adulthood. He was plainly and simply an innocent, 14 year old boy, in the middle of adolescence.

Bingley gave a small, but nervous smile. "D-D-Do I know you, sir?" he squeaked with a slight stutter, his voice going up several octaves.

This time when 17 year old Lord Darcy smiled, it truly reached his eyes, and lit up his face.

"Lord Fitzwilliam Darcy, at your service, sir" came the reply, in a deep baritone voice that he'd had since he was twelve years old. He reached out and extended his hand in friendship, "but you can call me Darcy."

"Darcy... I say, Darcy...!" Hearing his name quickly brought Lord Darcy back to the present time, ten years later.

"Where's your mind been Darce, you looked a million miles away? It's time to go inside." implored an excited and smiling Charles Bingley, as he gently nudged his friend in the ribs, rubbing his hands together gleefully, making no efforts to hide his delight and anticipation for the coming evening. Lord Darcy smiled back at Bingley, no longer the small fragile boy of the past, but a man full grown, though in so many ways, still an innocent. His friend. His best friend.

Darcy nodded as he took a deep breath and walked through the double doors, across the threshold, stepping into a loud, large crowded room, and what awaited him at Meryton's Assembly Hall. He had hoped that they would not make a grand entry, but suddenly, the room went silent, as the music, dancing and all conversation stopped and the whole crowd turned to look at the new residents of Netherfield Park. Unlike the crowds of so called Society, these quint people had not learned the art of acting unimpressed. Caroline was thrilled, while she practiced her best "I could not care less." expression that she had seen so many of the Upper Circles do. Darcy was horrified, although he appeared as stoic as always in appearance. All eyes were turned upon them. The center of everyone's attention, and apparently, the main attraction. The circus had come to town to walk down the main street for everyone to gawk at. Exactly the position he spent his entire life trying to avoid. He'd wanted to arrive at the Assembly quietly, and blend in discreetly, but it was clear that would not be happening. Darcy leaned forward slightly, slapped Bingley gently on the back, and whispered. "It's your show, Ringmaster. Lead the way, DINGLEY, lead the way."

Please review when you read this. No flames, no trolls, no zombies.


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